Grim Lovelies

by Megan Shepherd

  Anouk rubbed the back of her scalp. It still stung from where she’d pulled out a strand of her hair and then cut it so it was the same length as Cricket’s. In the dark cellar, no one had noticed the hair that was supposed to be Cricket’s was tawny, not cinnamon-brown.

  “Oh, merde,” Beau cursed, finally understanding.

  Cricket realized at the same time and burst out laughing.

  On his knees, Viggo bent to kiss Anouk’s bare toes. “My love. My angel. My dream. Command me, because my heart is yours.”

  Chapter 20

  Twenty-One Hours of Enchantment Remain

  “No.” Beau dragged Anouk to the cellar staircase, out of earshot of the others. “Absolutely not. I’m not okay with this. How are you okay with this? I’m not okay with this.”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “You made him fall in love with you. You! Not with Cricket.”

  “Beau, this is a good thing. He’ll do whatever I ask. Mada Zola helped me rewrite the love spell so that it’s a particularly devoted type of love. He’ll fall all over himself to please me. You saw him back there, worshiping at my feet. He’s practically our—”

  “Our slave.” Beau spat the word.

  She rested her hands on her hips. “Temporarily. We made the elixir potent but not long-lasting. It’ll work two, maybe three days; we need only one. Besides, how long have we been slaves to him? Fetching him tea, polishing his boots, staying awake all night in case he passed out and needed to be carried to bed? Don’t you remember how he snapped his fingers at you like a dog? How he pawed at Cricket? It’s only fair he gets a taste of what it’s like to serve.”

  Beau folded his arms. “We aren’t going to free ourselves by imprisoning others, even crétins like him.”

  But Anouk knew that falter in his voice. Was he jealous? His confession was still fresh on his lips, as were their kisses from the night before. He had to know that this thing with Viggo wasn’t real love. Still, he glowered at the wall.

  She poked the top button of his shirt and said softly, “Easy, there, or I’ll work the spell on you too.”

  He caught her hand at the collar of his shirt and held it. On flat ground he towered over her, but she was perched one stair higher, and for once they were eye to eye.

  “It wouldn’t work on me.”

  “You don’t think me capable?”

  “Try all you want. Whisper the strongest love spell you know. They’d only be words—​I’m already in love with you.”

  Anouk felt her cheeks burn in that pleasantly unpleasant way. She wrapped her other hand around his, squeezed almost painfully. “Tell me again that you didn’t kill her.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then who did? You know something.”

  His jaw tightened. Something wavered in his eyes, but then he shook his head.

  “Who else was in the house that night? Tell me, Beau.”

  But he wouldn’t.

  She let go of his hands, frustrated and a little angry. If he’d only tell her the truth, horrible as it might be, maybe she could return those words he’d said to her. Only a fool . . . and I’m a fool. For now, all she could do was look at him and see a person she might not know at all.

  “We don’t have time for this.”

  She pushed past him down the stairs into the cellar, where Hunter Black was trying to reason with Viggo, who had for some reason collected a small pyramid of wine bottles in the center of the room. When he saw her, his face brightened.

  “Anouk! My trésor, my cœur. Look—​for you I have gathered the finest wines. Only the best for you.” He collapsed to the ground, then inched forward on hands and knees to kiss her toes. Taken by surprise, she jerked backward and accidentally kicked him.

  “Oh! Sorry, Viggo.”

  He cradled his chin. “Oh, no, my puce. No, no. It’s my fault. I thoughtlessly let my face get in the way of your foot. A thousand apologies.”

  Beau sighed. “This is going to get old fast.”

  “Not for me,” Cricket said, popping another cookie in her mouth.

  “Get up, Viggo.” Anouk felt uncomfortable. She glanced at Viggo’s wristwatch. Three o’clock in the morning. “Beau, were you able to make a map of Castle Ides?”

  “I tried, but it makes no sense. It’s almost like the rooms in the paintings intentionally don’t match up. Like the floor plan changes.”

  “Let me look at it,” Cricket said. “You’re used to following tidy little road maps where everything’s perfectly to scale. Thievery work is often . . . less precise.”

  “We’ll have to hurry,” Anouk said. “We don’t have long to figure out how to break into the most well-protected structure in the Haute.” She couldn’t hide her yawn. “And I need coffee.”

  “Allow me to make it for you, my chère.” Without waiting for a response, Viggo sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  “I have to see this.” Cricket ran after him, followed by Beau and Petra and Hunter Black, though Anouk grabbed the assassin’s arm.

  “Hunter Black, wait a minute.”

  He practically growled down at her small hand on his coat. She was suddenly very aware that they were alone in the dark cellar and that very recently he’d had a knife pressed to her neck.

  “I know you don’t like what I did to Viggo. But you need this plan to succeed as much as the rest of us do. If we don’t get that spell, you’ll lose your humanity too. Besides, the love spell is only temporary. It’s not real.”

  “Clearly,” he snarled. “He’d never love you.”

  Maybe someone else would have bristled at the barb, but Anouk saw his mask slip another inch. He was like a wounded creature lashing out at anyone but his master.

  “We need you, Hunter Black. At the very least, you need to keep Viggo from making an ass of himself in front of the Royals and giving us away. You’re one of us. Like it or not, we’re a family.”

  Hunter Black toed one of the wine bottles, sending it rolling across the floor.

  She took that as a yes.

  She extended her hand. “We only have to work together until midnight.”

  He grudgingly shook it. “Midnight.”

  Upstairs, they found Cricket studiously drawing out a map. Every inch of the sitting-room floor was covered with paintings that showed the different rooms in Castle Ides. Cricket had scrawled a rough blueprint on the inside of her forearm, and Mada Zola and Petra were helping her fill in the blanks from their memories.

  Anouk picked her way across the floor, holding her arms out for balance, trying not to step on any paintings.

  “Breaking into Castle Ides won’t be easy,” the witch warned. “It looks like a regular ten-story building, but in reality, this same building exists in ten different cities at the same time, a type of portal. The only way to access the upper floors is here”—​she pointed to a rectangular chamber on the map sketched on Cricket’s arm—​“through the building’s elevator. Each floor leads to a different city. Rio de Janeiro is the sixth floor. New York is the second. Tokyo is the third. The elevator—”

  “Coffee!” Viggo carried in a tray holding a pot of coffee that smelled like burned sugar, nearly stumbling on the paintings on the floor. He poured Anouk a cup. She took a sniff and grimaced.

  “The elevator,” Mada Zola continued, “is guarded by the Royals’ proxies, called the Marble Ladies. You’ll need to present your invitation to them at the front desk.”

  Viggo reached into his pocket and took out an elegant paper invitation, wiggling his eyebrows enticingly at Anouk. She pushed the coffee away.

  “The Royals inhabit the penthouse floors,” Mada Zola explained. “Once you get there, you’ll be closely watched. Guests are escorted at all times by lesser Royals, which will make it difficult for you to get to the spell library. And Beau is correct—​the floor plan of the penthouse is set to change every hour, on the hour.” She turned to Cricket. “You’ll have to keep a close eye on the timing to unders
tand how the rooms rotate.”

  As Mada Zola explained the rotation schedule to Cricket, Viggo sank onto the divan next to Anouk and begged, “Give me a pistol, mon amour. Out of all of us, I’m the only one who can use it.”

  She eased a few inches away from him. “No pistols. You might be able to use it, but magic in Castle Ides is highly concentrated. There’s no telling what bringing technology into that place might do.”

  Cricket finished writing out the map on her arm and announced, “So, then, while Viggo is distracting the Royals, I break into the spell library and steal the beastie spell. That’s it? Easy.”

  “I’m afraid not,” the witch said. “The spell library doesn’t contain books but tens of thousands of bound folios holding the spells. It would take days to search through them all.”

  “They must be cataloged somehow,” Anouk said.

  “Yes, by magic. And they can be located only by magic.” She went to the bookcase and took out a glass jar with something small and spindly inside: a captive dragonfly. “I don’t normally use insects—​that’s dirty Goblin magic—​but they have their uses. The Royals use enchanted fireflies to locate the spells, but this will do the job just as well. With the proper whisper, it will lead you to the correct folio.”

  Cricket reached for the jar, but Mada Zola held it back.

  “My darling Cricket, even as a cat, you were prone to recklessness. That might serve you for more action-oriented spells, but this one requires a quiet disposition. Anouk, you must perform the spell. I’ll write it out for you. It isn’t easy, but I have faith in you.”

  Anouk carefully tucked the jar in her pocket.

  “So all that’s left,” Cricket said, “is figuring out how to sneak past Prince Rennar’s own penthouse apartments and into the library without having escorts. Any ideas?”

  The cat clock was ticking. They needed to leave soon, let Beau drive like the wind, make up for some precious lost hours. Anouk paced, stepping around the paintings like puzzle pieces, looking at the haunted faces staring back, the beautiful ballroom filled with dancing Royals and musicians to play for them and—​

  “Servants.”

  “What was that?” asked Mada Zola.

  Anouk picked up the heavy painting of the ball. “Look—​these figures in the background, dressed in black. They’re servants, aren’t they? And servants don’t have escorts. No one bothers to notice the maids. Even in the painting, they’re just sketched-in figures. That’s how we get from the elevator to the spell library and back—​disguised as servants.” She turned to Viggo and Hunter Black. “And once we steal the spell, I’ll signal to you two that it’s time to go. I’ll bring a tray of tea to the salon. Lavender tea if everything is good, bergamot if there’s trouble.”

  “We’ll need maid uniforms,” Cricket said.

  Anouk peered closer at the maids in the painting. Each wore a plain black dress, a white apron, and a lace veil covering half her face. The painting didn’t show the detail of the specific buttons or hems or shoes, but she guessed that Royals never looked closely at the staff. They wouldn’t notice small missing details.

  The bed sheets, Anouk thought. Those are white. And the curtains are dark velvet.

  “Do you have needle and thread, Petra?”

  Petra gave a laugh. “Do I look like I do needlepoint?” But then she thought. “We have gardening wire.”

  “That’ll do. We’ll have to take down these curtains.”

  “They’re purple, not black.”

  “A little magic will change that. Besides, no one will be looking at us. They’ll be too busy looking at Viggo being . . . Viggo.” She waved in his general direction; he was adjusting his ridiculous slouchy hat in a mirror.

  She turned to Beau. “And you’ll need to stay outside in the car and keep it running in case we need to get out of there quickly.”

  “Impossible, cabbage. I’m going with you.”

  She rested a hand on his shoulder. “We all have to play to our strengths. You breathe, sleep, and dream cars. Sorry, but it isn’t up for negotiation.”

  He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t argue. “And you? Once you locate the folio for Cricket to steal, what will you do?”

  The others’ jobs seemed so clear: Beau, the getaway driver; Cricket, the spell thief; Viggo, the distraction; and Hunter Black, their bodyguard in case anything went wrong. Where did she fit into all of this? A maid and a cook—​that’s all she’d ever been. And yet there was something about bringing them all together that did feel like baking: gathering disparate ingredients—​a thief, a driver, an assassin—​and mixing them in just the right ways at just the right times while keeping a close eye on the clock.

  “What I do best,” she said. “Keep things tidy.”

  She went to the clock on the mantel, counting the hours on her fingers. “We have less than a day to drive to Paris, steal the spell, and return. As long as absolutely nothing goes wrong, we can pull this off.”

  She started to take down the velvet curtains. There was no time to sew entire costumes by hand, but she’d once seen Mada Vittora cast a trick to stitch a Goblin’s mouth shut. She remembered the spell. It wouldn’t be perfect, but they were short on time, and the maids’ costumes had to stay together for only a few hours.

  “As long as nothing goes wrong?” Cricket muttered. “We’re so screwed.”

  Chapter 21

  Eighteen Hours of Enchantment Remain

  Sitting in the front seat of the Rolls-Royce, Anouk slid her hands over the plain dress and white apron. A broom rested at her feet. She adjusted her flimsy veil. The maid’s costume didn’t fit well, but given that she’d cobbled it and a matching one for Cricket together from curtains and gardening wire in under an hour, that was to be expected. She fought against the feeling that she was going backward, sliding into her old life. The apron was only temporary, she reminded herself. She didn’t have to sweep. Didn’t have to polish silver. But still, she was startled when she caught her reflection in the side mirror: Hair pulled back in a crisp ribbon. Dress that was blank and forgettable. No golden threads. No gossamer wings.

  She folded up the veil and twisted to the back seat, where Cricket sat between Hunter Black and Viggo. Cricket’s usual wardrobe consisted of ripped tights and shirts with skulls; Anouk wasn’t used to seeing her in a starched apron and prim knee socks with a feather duster in one hand, and she almost had to hide a snicker. Cricket’s arms were folded tight to avoid having to touch either of the boys. Viggo, sitting behind Anouk, kept sneaking his hands forward in an attempt to massage her shoulders.

  “Stop it, Viggo,” she snapped.

  “You look tense, my love.”

  “We’re about to break into Castle Ides to steal the only spell that could keep us human. Yes, I’m tense.”

  They’d stuck the cat clock back on the dashboard with gum, and now it tick-tick-ticked, counting down the hours until they arrived in Paris.

  “I hid the pouch of eucalyptus leaves in my bra, but there aren’t enough places to stash my blades in this dress,” Cricket complained.

  “You’ll have to leave the big ones behind,” Anouk said. “The small ones you can hide in your hair. Speaking of . . .” She motioned regretfully to Cricket’s curly mass of hair. “You’ll need to pull it back.”

  Cricket scoffed, offended.

  “Maids don’t wear their hair loose,” Anouk said. “Maids don’t wear black lipstick; they don’t have rips in their tights. They don’t show any personality at all: that’s the point. You have to hide everything that makes you you. When you move through a room, it should be with quiet steps and small movements. You’re not a person, you’re a piece of furniture with legs.”

  She felt a hollow pang inside; she’d never thought about it in these terms before. How long had she spent hiding who she was behind an apron? Scouring floors for hours in the hopes that her work would be so perfect that she’d be noticed? But she was never noticed. She reached for the old fr
anc coin but realized she’d left it on her bedroom dresser, back at the estate.

  Beau was looking at her oddly. She had her arms clutched tightly across her chest and was shivering slightly. He handed her the Faustine jacket from the back seat. She laid it over her chest like a blanket, tracing her fingers over the fabric. When she glanced in the mirror again, a piece of furniture with legs didn’t look back this time.

  The gargoyle.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, putting the jacket on.

  Cricket grudgingly pulled her hair back into a high bun and took off her charm earring, but she refused to remove her sunglasses. She sighed loudly and slid down in the seat. Her boot knocked against Hunter Black and he kicked back.

  “Watch it,” he snapped.

  “You watch it.” Cricket held up a eucalyptus leaf threateningly. “Or I’ll use the cutting spell on that greasy hair of yours.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Cricket,” Beau warned.

  But Hunter Black gave her boot another kick and Cricket swallowed the leaf. “That’s it. Prepare to be bald. Incisha coup, bastard—”

  The car lurched hard enough to pitch everyone forward, the engine chugging and struggling. Anouk grabbed the dashboard to steady herself.

  “Beau, what the hell?” Cricket cried.

  “It isn’t me.” He fought to regain control of the car. “I told you not to do magic in here. It interferes with the car’s technology.”

  “We shouldn’t be fighting anyway,” Anouk said. “We’re all on the same side now, don’t you get that? We’re a family.” She turned and faced the front. Two hands snaked up to her shoulders and started kneading her tense muscles, and she whipped around again. “Viggo, I said no massages!”

  She exchanged an exasperated look with Beau.

  “Witch’s boys these days,” he lamented.

  They rode in silence through the French countryside, and Anouk watched the world pass by. Small towns dotted the landscape, and she thought of how each one was filled with Pretties going about their daily lives, to school and offices and grocery stores, never once realizing how precious their very existence was. What a gift it was to be them.